Whispering Bells
by Zamelot
Summary: The question of 'why' she was there wasn't as pressing as the 'how long' she'd be there. But with an abnormally young Clark Kent, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
1. Blue Moon

_Whispering Bells_

_Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone. _  
_Without a dream in my heart. _  
_Without a love of my own._

Prologue: Blue Moon

The repetitive churning of her dead engine was no more familiar than the mysterious cut on her forehead. Not surprisingly, however, neither fact was what concerned Lois Lane. It was the idea that she had no recollection of anything prior to turning her key into the ignition. Almost as if she had fallen asleep doing so only to wake up and not understand how she had come to doing it.

Releasing the key, leaving it in the ignition, and momentarily watching the giant 'S' on the chain twirl, Lois reached across the passenger seat and gathered her purse into her lap. She forced open the metallic clasp and, digging through her assortment of junk (a lipstick, wallet, hairbrush, two pens, and a notebook), pulled out the beeper Perry had bought her for Christmas, him saying it was the only way he would be able to find out where she was. Lucky for her, however, the communication device seemed jammed and unwilling to respond to her frustrated shaking.

"Damn," she murmured, dropping it back in before proceeding to chuck the purse onto her dashboard in misplaced anger.

She leaned back, folding her arms across her chest, pondering the miscellaneous thoughts that ran through her mind, trying to recall anything that may lead to a hint as to how she had come to her current predicament before she gave up and kicked open her door, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from her glove compartment.

The cool evening air surprised her, as did the sweet smell of summer as it blew through the long grass in the field surrounding the road and past her. Lois stuck a cigarette into her mouth, advancing toward the field, as she noted the road where she was parked contained no signs nor street lamps: only tall phone lines that stretched further down than she could see.

Lois stopped short in her observation as she caught sight of a young man standing far up ahead, not facing her. There as no sign of any transportation he could have used, leaving Lois to conclude that there was a town somewhere nearby within walking distance. What startled her, however, was the familiarity of the boy: there was something about him that made her want to call out his name as if she knew it. But then there was also an unfamiliarity about him; especially in the way he held himself.

Never before had she seen someone who looked so comfortable in their own skin. He appeared ready to take on the world, and as silly as it sounded, invincible. He looked prepared for any challenge thrown at him, capable of solving anything as long as it meant something to someone else.

Not even Superman had this kind of confidence.

But in between his God-like pose: the way he held his arms and how his head lolled on his neck, gave off the impression that he had been willingly defeated in something. Not at all bitter about the loss, but affected enough to feel safe to let his guard down in a place where he thought he was alone, causing Lois to feel as though she were walking in on him.

He suddenly sucked in a deep breath, a breath that seemed to draw all the grass toward him and change the course of the wind as he filled the span of his lungs and gazed up at the night sky.

Lois faltered in her approach, the cigarette slipping from between her lips, and for the split second that her eyes left the boy to instinctively seek out her Lucky Strike, he vanished, leaving Lois with the breeze and the endless starry sky with the thousands of irreplaceable, glittering diamonds and the damn cigarette that may have cost her her only ticket to nearby civilization.


	2. Come Go With Me

_I positively abhor this chapter. I was trying to overcome writer's block and at the same time figure out what I was doing exactly with this story. While I managed to unsolve the puzzle, I'm afraid my writing is suffering here. But it was a necessary set up, none-the-less. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated!_

* * *

_Come, come, come, come,  
Come into my heart,  
Tell me, darlin',  
We will never part;  
I need you, darlin',  
So come go with me.  
~The Del Vikings_

Lois awoke in the back seat of her car to a sharp tapping against the window above her head, a shadow looming over her from the mid morning sunlight. She stretched across the length of the leather seats, a mild numbness in her right leg from having slept on it, and craned her neck upwards to see the silhouetted gentleman standing outside her car.

Hauling herself into a seated position, her eyesight still unfocused and state of mind disoriented, she jerked the lock up and rolled down the window to face the man who now stood with his back to her.

"Good morning," Lois said, her voice thick with sleep and eyes yet to adjust to the clear, bright sunlight.

The man turned back around at her greeting, his thumbs hooked onto his suspenders, a strip of wheat hanging from his lip. He was a conservative looking older gentleman: the typical blue uniform of a police officer and the broad, Irish face she'd seen in old movies. He removed his cap upon facing her and Lois had a brief vision in her head that he was one of the many to have a Reagan/Bush 1980 sticker on the bumper of his cruiser.

"Mornin', miss," he paused to pull the wheat out of his mouth and held his cap in his twisting hands. "Pardon the intrusion, but I can't help but wonder what such a pretty lady like you would be doin' parked out on highway number nine, sleeping in her car."

Lois rested her forehead against the back of her hand leaning against the car door. If the stress and realizations—or lack thereof—of the night before had not dawned on her at that moment, Lois would have been flattered and charmed at the man's light southern twang and at being referred to as pretty.

"My car's dead and I lost my cigarette," Lois replied, sure of that much. She put her feet on the floor, her shoes possibly lost somewhere under the seats, and leaned her elbows out of the window.

"Well, if you'd like," the man began, but stopped, looking over his shoulder at the noisy, rumbling, and popping approach of a faded red pick up. The man chuckled and hooked his thumbs onto his suspenders again, leaning back onto the heels of his feet. "Well, ain't that convenient."

Lois peered over at the truck in polite interest, the fact that Frankie Lymon was coming loudly from the stereo being more of a concern to her rather than what could have been convenient about the truck's arrival.

It came to a stop on the opposite side of the narrow road and the boy in the passenger seat rolled down his window before leaning out to call to the policeman.

"Top o' the morning, Officer Sullivan! How's your daughter been?"

He had a wholesome American boy look about him: a white smile, freckles across his nose and cheeks against the slight tanned skin of early summer, and blonde hair the color of straw, combed meticulously and parted to the side. His green eyes flashed in the bright light as the officer shifted to face him.

"Good, no thanks to you, Ross," he replied, his grin light-hearted despite the serious tone of his voice.

"Aww," the Ross boy groaned, smacking a hand against the outside of the door. "Tell 'er I been meanin' to call her. Real soon. That's a promise."

"Gosh darn it, boy—oh," the officer turned back at Lois sheepishly, "pardon the expression, miss—" he returned his attention to the teenager in the red truck. "You better stop leadin' on mah daughter or I'll make you spend the night in the cooler."

"Don't you worry, Mr. Sullivan," the driver leaned over Ross's shoulder, "I'll make sure he takes your daughter to the hop even if it kills him."

Simultaneously, Lois and the officer leaned forward to get a better look at the other boy whose dark hair shrouded his face against the morning light.

"That you in there, Kent?" Officer Sullivan asked, a fond smile replacing his outright grin.

"The one and only, sir."

"Kent?" Lois inquired, squinting at the dark haired boy on the other side of the road, leaning over the lap of his blonde passenger, one large hand holding onto the side of the door.

Officer Sullivan nodded, obviously proud of the only person with a name familiar to Lois; he propped his hat back on his head and turned back to the truck, his thumbs hooked onto his pockets.

"Kent, you boys mind driving down to Louie's to pick up a tower? This here lady's car broke down and I need to drive 'er to the station to get 'er checked out."

There was a slight hesitation as the boys leaned their heads together to discuss the situation before Ross leaned out the window again. "Me and Kent got a geography test in Mr. Hert's class first period."

"You're still testing?"

"Last test of the year, sir," Ross said.

Sullivan thought for a moment, turning his gaze up towards the sky, squinting at the brightness of the sun before turning back, a grin on his broad face. "How about making it up tomorrow? I'll buy Mr. Hert a beer."

Ross slammed his hands down onto his lap and laughed, his voice ringing in the still morning air. "Yes, sir!" he shouted as Kent shifted gears and tore off down the street, a cloud of highway dust rising in their wake.

Officer Sullivan chuckled, starring after them a moment longer before turning back to Lois, still barefoot inside her car.

"Would you please follow me, ma'am?" Sullivan asked, sweeping a hand out in front of him and reaching to open the passenger door.

Hesitating for a moment as she debated whether to dive under her seats to search for her shoes, Lois swung her legs over the side, deciding not to bother, and hopped out of her car. Officer Sullivan shut the door behind her and, in a manner that bordered on old-fashioned chivalry, led her to his cruiser parked behind her Ford.

The Ross boy had been kind enough to lend her his gym shoes: a pair of well loved, red retro sneakers he had placed in Kent's truck the day before when the boys had cleaned out their gym lockers.

"I know they're probably the last thing a lady like you would want to wear," he told her, a blush rising in his boyish face, "but they're load better 'n walking 'round barefoot."

She thanked him with a smile that made him trip over himself before Officer Sullivan mentioned something about a dance that whipped the goofy look off his freckled face.

The officer she had spoken to prior to her car's escorts' arrivals was pacing the floor in the sheriff's office and listing points off his fingers. He had given her an incredulous stare when she had stated that she was General Sam Lane's daughter, murmuring something under his breath about having served in Korea with him. He had appeared even more confused when Lois listed off the address, number, and base her father was currently residing.

A sweep of his voice was heard when someone opened the door to the office while the man was exclaiming that he'd "be damned if that girl was Lieutenant Sam Lane's five-year-old daughter!"

"Excuse me,"

Lois started, shifting her gaze from the office and to her right where a tall, young man with his dark hair gelled and parted to the side stood beside her. He wore an unbuttoned flannel shirt with a white tee shirt underneath tucked neatly into his dirty, worn jeans. There was a hole by his knee and by the way he leaned on one leg, his weight distributed unevenly, Lois could see the dirt smeared on his skin through the rip. There was a bandana stuffed into his pocket soiled with grease, some of which was still on his hands. He flashed a quirky grin at her jumpiness and inclined his head at her acknowledgment.

"Ma'am, we've just been looking at your car over at the shop and it may take us a few days to repair, if you don't mind."

Looking at the way in which he held himself: straight backed and confident, Lois was sure that this was the same boy she had seen on the evening of her arrival, standing alone in the field. But up close, he couldn't have been any more familiar. So familiar—and so very young. His name was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't dare call it out.

"What's your name?"

The boy stared at her with a mixture of confusion and wariness. "Clark. Clark Kent. I work sometimes down at Lou—"

In spite of herself and her current situation, Lois laughed: an obnoxious burst of sound exploding from her mouth and causing her stomach muscles to clench. She slapped her hands over her mouth and doubled over, burying her face into her lap.

"Oh, please," she murmured through her fingers, "next you'll be telling me I'm in Smallville, Kansas,"

This boy, this Clark Kent, who in every way from his stance to the plaid shirt he wore, did not resemble the Clark Kent that she knew, tipped his head forward, the light from the overhead ceiling fan casting his face in shadow but causing his eyes to shine bright in his face.

"Well, you kinda are,"

Lois's laughter died down to a nervous chuckle that slowly began to make its way toward hyperventilation as she straightened up and dropped her hands back into her lap. She suddenly felt ridiculous in her gray suit and oversized red Chucks. She looked up at this boy who was the apparent subject of mockery at the _Daily Planet_ next to Jimmy and felt uncommonly small and self-conscious.

"Oh, God, now you're going to tell me it's 1950 or something, right? That I've entered the Twilight Zone or what not?"

Kent shifted as his friend, Ross called his name and bounded across the room for him. "Well… no... it's 1963… and I'm afraid I'm no Rod Serling."

Lois leaned back on the bench, her hands clasped between her knees and her gaze directed on the outside window. She heard the patter of Ross's feet as he approached them, his breath coming short as he leaned forward and attempted to relate his statement to Clark.

"Hey, man, it's almost ten, if we don't want detention; we ought to get back real soon," he paused and looked at Lois carefully from the corner of his eye before looking back at Clark and stressing again "_Real soon_."

Clark returned his attention Lois, an apologetic smile on his face: the sort of smile she had seen so many times before; but she just couldn't put her finger on _where_. "I'm awful sorry, ma'am. I need to be on my way. If you'd like, I could talk it over with you later at the shop: let you know what needs to be done with the car and all?"

"That'd be fine," she said quickly, realizing that he was indeed speaking to her and that he was most likely expecting an answer. "Um, when can I talk to you? Where are you going?"

Clark seemed to shrink back a bit, almost as if he were embarrassed. "School, ma'am. I'll be out by three."

Lois faltered. "School?" she repeated. "You're still in school?"

He nodded, taking a hesitant step backwards. "Yes, ma'am. I'm a senior this year. School's almost out."

Lois looked away from him again. There she was in a police station, her shoes in her car, her car in a repair shop, and Clark Kent—eighteen years old—in front of her.

"It's 1963," she said, her gaze still staring straight ahead. "I don't have any cigarettes and you" she turned back, meeting his unwavering gaze, "are a senior in high school."

Lois pushed a hand through her hair. Lord help her as she couldn't remember a damn thing.

She'd pulled a Marty McFly.


	3. What's Your Name

_This speedy update is thanks to a rather dull party I was forced to attend where I sat in the kitchen writing for four hours. :3 Character development basically. Congrats to anyone who figures out who I based Pete off of!_

* * *

_What's your name?  
I have seen you before,  
What's your name?  
Can I walk you to your door?  
-Don and Juan_

By the time the 3 o'clock bell, signaling the end for all classes, had rang, Lois had smoked through the entire pack of Winston's she had bought at Smallville General Store. (.50¢ a pack? Heaven!) She was just stubbing out the last cigarette on the concrete stairs leading up to the school when the doors burst open and students began milling out. Lois stood up and moved to press to the side, scanning through the crowd of poodle skirts and ducktails for one of two familiar faces.

What she got instead was recognition of her own:

"Hey, baby!"

Lois turned, facing the top of the stairs, knowing that voice instantly, "Hey, Mr. Red Chucks."

Ross grinned as they strode toward her, an arm tossed around the shoulders of a petite blonde girl, Clark standing a bit off to the side. "Ah see you're still wearing them _high_ tops," he exclaimed, his voice cracking at the high pitch he chose to use on _high_.

Lois wiggled her toes freely in the gap between her where her feet were supposed to meet the toe of the shoes and was about to respond when Clack leaned into Ross' ear:

"Pete, I think your behavior is hardly appropriate."

Before she could retort, Ross had leaned back to look up at his taller friend, a smirk midway between good-natured and plain insolent twitching at the corner of his mouth:

"I'm only tryin' a-be friendly, Kent. This lady sure as hell ain't from aroun' here—"

"Pete!" the blonde girl shouted, throwing off his arm. "There are lady's ears present!"

"—And I'm just tryin' a make 'er feel welcome—Sorry, baby," he added to the girl, "And in matters of bein' 'inappropriate', you shouldn't be talkin', Mr. I'm-gonna-ask-a-girl-who's-already-got-a-boyfirend-to-go-to-the-hop-with-me."

"That's different, Pete," Clark replied and turned to Lois, not waiting for Pete's response. "Hello, ma'am. I certainly wasn't expecting you so soon. Did one of the officers give you a ride here?"

"Actually, I decided to take a personal detour around your lovely little town," Lois said, flicking her cigarette stub into the grass by the stairs.

Clark glanced at his two companions, an uncertain smile on his face. "You _walked_ here, ma'am?"

"Hey," she barked, crossing her arms and scrunching up her nose, "when your father's the general, there's no excuse for physical weakness. Besides, this isn't so big a town."

"Well, we do live in _Small_ville," Clark exchanged glances with Ross as the latter patted her blonde girl on the bottom, biting his lip at his former statement and came up with a new idea, "Hey, Kent, why doncha ask this little lady to the hop?"

"Have you found a place to stay, ma'am?" Clark promptly ignored Ross's suggestion choosing instead to keep his gaze fixed stubbornly on Lois.

"C'mon, Kent!" Ross laughed, clapping his hands and keeping them pressed together as he brought them under his chin. "C'mon! I'll spin ya!"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Kent," she said, returning the formality. "The status of my car is actually what I'm most concerned about." That and finding a way to get the heck outta there.

Lois noted the uneasy look Clark gave her, reminiscent of an encounter she had had with him once when she questioned him about having found one of his shirts in the back room at the _Planet_.

"Or are you completely oblivious as to its condition."

"Well, it's not that I'm oblivious, ma'am," he said quickly to her accusing tone, "it's just that the boys down at the shop, myself included… have never seen a contraption quite like yours before. It's kind of… complicated."

Lois felt her breath hitch and instantly could have smacked herself. What year was it? 1960 something? Did they even know what seat belts were?

"How long do you think it'll take to figure out?" she asked after a moment's hesitation, her fingernails found their way into her mouth, a habit she hadn't touched since she first scored a job interview at the _Daily Planet_. She wished then that she knew more about cars than merely how to change a tire.

Clark pulled at the frayed edge of his red flannel shirt and glanced at Ross, who was currently whispering sweet nothings into the ear of the blonde girl, her chin in his hand.

"We do plan to work on it all summer if we have to, ma'am," Clark began. "Unless you'd rather take a bus or train back home. Then we could send the car over if you'd like."

Lois hesitated before declining Clark's offer. If this was indeed anything like the Twilight Zone, she had no hope for escape. She may as well wait it out.

"Would you know any places up for rent?"

"There's the Talon," Clark suggested.

"No," the blonde girl spoke up; she gave Ross a light shove on the chest, giving Lois the opportunity to take a good look at her. She had green eyes in a round, clever face and a blonde bob that seemed to scream Marlene Dietrich. "The Talon shut down yesterday," she gave Lois a knowing glance mixed with a bit of coy humor. "A bad case of rats: it wasn't pretty."

Clark nudged the girl aside, seeming to ask, incognito, via facial expressions: "Really? No kidding?" He turned back to Lois, sheepishly and ran a hand over the front of his shirt. He was about to name a new place when Ross beat him to it:

"Hey, Kent, ain't your momma rentin' out a room?"

She could have been imagining it, but it appeared to Lois that Clark physically winced at Ross's statement. "Well, with what you're suggestin', Pete, it won't be a rentin' room anymore."

Pete tossed his around back around the girl while Kent and him directed Lois toward the red puck up in the student lot. "Why not?"

"For one, my momma won't ever take anyone's money, so why she's even advertisin' it as a rentin' room, I don't know. Next, she asked for an up to do, not a farm house—"

"I'm not particular," Lois interjected, suddenly intensely curious about Clark's home life as a teenager.

Ross looked at Clark smugly, his early morning, perfectly parted blonde hair, now hanging about his face in wavy clumps. "See, Buddy Holly? Your momma gets to a-lendin' her rentin' room and you get to have Miss still-wearing-mah-red-chucks help get your mind offa Miss Lang! By the way, can ya drop Miss Sullivan home? You know, show Officer Krupke that we've kissed and made up? Right, baby?"

The girl, Miss Sullivan, shoved Ross playfully away. "You're a pig, Pete,"

"But cha love me anyway, huh, baby?"

Clark rolled his eyes despite the smile on is face and unlocked the passenger door of his truck. He held out a hand to Lois and helped her up prior to turning to help Miss Sullivan in as well.

"Ain't cha gonna help me in too, Clark, dahlin'?" Ross asked in a Jerry Lee falsetto as Clark moved to get into the truck from the other side.

Lois watched Clark grin, his eyes catching the light and his dark, glossy hair gleaming blue in the afternoon sun. She had never before seen him so carefree or at ease; able to enjoy himself in front of others and let down the transparent veil of over caution that he always held tightly over his head.

"Sorry, Petey. You're on your own this time!"

Once Clark had backed out of the lot, Ross threw himself across the laps of Miss Sullivan and Lois in an attempt to switch on the radio.

At the sight (and shrieks), Clark gave a hoot of laughter. "You know, you could just ask, Pete."

"Really," Lois added, giving Ross a little shove by the shoulder as he dialed through the stations, each one he passed screeching in different pitches. "And you gave me the impression that you were a sweet country boy."

Ross waited until he'd found a song he liked, _Whispering Bells_ by The Del-Vikings, before he sat himself upright and answered Lois's observation. "Ah, ya see, ma'am, that there is your mistake. The 'aw shucks' appeal is mah way of making a good impression. After all, if you don't make a good impression, you don't have anything."

"It's Pete's way of getting people to like him before he shows his true colors," Clark added, glancing at Ross who shot him an unpleasant look.

"Yeah, a-cause way down inside, he's a real pig," the blonde Miss Sullivan said, patting Lois on the knee. "He's a mean, sleazy, selfish pig who could really hurt you with what he says and not think twice about it. I'm Chloe, by the way. Chloe Sullivan."

Lois returned Chloe's greeting as Ross leaned to the side, his back to the door, to call to Clark. "Hey, boy, you gonna let this woman talk bad about your brother?"

Clark snorted as he made a turn onto a new street and pulled up to a sweet, small town house with sunflowers growing along the white fence. "As far as I'm concerned, Pete, she's your woman. Your woman," he shifted gears to park, "your problem, man."

Pete banged his head back on the window. "What we foolish mortals must suffer for love." He paused as he saw Miss Chloe Sullivan starring expectantly at him. "Oh, ya see, I can't walk you to your door, Miss Sullivan, on account a Mr. Kent hasn't opened the door for us yet."

From beside her, Lois heard Clark sigh, his good-natured smile still in tact. "Petey boy. Open the darn door."

Before they dropped him off, Clark asked Pete again whether he was sure he didn't want to swing by the Kent's for dinner.

"As much as I'd love to, Clark, my daddy wants to have a stern talk with me. I reckon it's about me skippin' mass for the past three weeks and with him bein' a preacher n' all, it don't make 'im look good. He wants to know where I been."

Clark leaned out the truck window, his hair as neat as Ross's was messy. "Tell 'im… you been floatin' with me."

There was a twinkle in Ross's eye that seemed to hold genuine delight as another cheeky smile spread across his freckled face. "If only, man. If only," he clapped his hands then and gave Lois a wink before waving at Clark who began backing up. "See ya tomorrow, man, I love ya!"

"I like him," Lois confided in Clark as they drove up the road to the Kent farm.

Clark glanced at her. "You're one of the few."

"He seems like a lovable guy," she said. "Impossible to dislike."

He shrugged, pulling into the driveway leading into the great red barn. "Most people don't get 'im or take him too seriously. He's a swell guy, but incredibly unpredictable. Most find that out the hard way."

Lois flinched at his usage of the term swell and watched as he jumped out of the truck. He then held out a hand to help her down. She took his hand tentatively, sliding across the flaking leather and marveling at his apparent strength as he lifted her down with one hand on her opposite elbow, her other hand in his own. For an instant, Lois met his eyes: a haunting, luminescent blue she'd felt she'd seen so many times before, but never this bright.

"By the way," Lois snapped form her daydream as Clark slammed shut his door. "I never go the opportunity to properly introduce myself. I'm Clark Kent, as I told you before," he paused below the porch of a small, yellow house with autumn pattered curtains. "What's your name?"

Lois took absent notice of the woman standing at the screen door, wearing a white apron and holding a pitcher of lemonade, as she was stuck staring at Clark Kent's unusual eyes again. "I'm… my name is Lois. Lois Lane."

Clark smiled: a slight upward quirk of his lips, a motion that sent Lois's heart into a flutter.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lane."

* * *

Criticism is always appreciated. And in matters of age, I completely screwed up the times, as JJ the elusive figured out. :3 So, I'm still working with that one.


	4. Don't Ask Me To Be Lonely

STOP. IF YOU HAVEN'T REREAD CHAPTER THREE GO BACK, REREAD, THEN RETURN HERE. Thank you. ALSO. I decided to combine chapters 4 and 5ish? I'm confused by numbers right now. Two chapters have been combined. A 5th chapter shall be prepared soon. :D Thank you!

* * *

_As me for the world,_

_It doesn't seem much,_

_As me for the moon, dear,_

_And I'll reach out and touch_

_~The Dubs_

Lois remembered when Clark first came to work at the _Daily Planet_, seeing a picture tacked up on the corkboard above his desk next to a photograph of his parents. The picture, she now realized, had been one of himself as a teenager, a boy Lois now identified as Pete Ross, and a stunning, petite redhead infamously known as Lana Lang. Although, why Lana Lang brought to mind the term 'infamous', Lois could only suggest Clark's almost bitter reaction when Jimmy had asked about the picture.

Clark had long since taken it down, and Lois, who had initially been curious, eventually forgot about it.

But perhaps having the opportunity to meet Miss Lang in person was enough to trigger the, what most would call, insignificant memory.

When the day of the hop finally rolled around and Clark had decided that he was not going to attend, Mrs. Kent somehow managed to convince him to at least swing by and drop off the deserts she had made for the occasion.

On any other day, it would have been obvious that Clark Kent was a real down to earth John Denver momma's boy.

"It's one step short of Oedipal," Pete had remarked once of the relationship.

Today, however, Clark's normally good mood seemed spoiled by the undesired trip. And it probably didn't help that Mrs. Kent suggested Lois join him so she could see "what a real country dance looks like".

While Mrs. Kent had been nothing but a sweetheart to Lois since she had taken up board with the Kents, she couldn't help but feel that the offer was the worst idea of the week. During the past couple of days, she had managed to push and jam all the buttons that made Clark Kent tick and reel. Something she figured didn't make him too happy. The only time she had seen him in a mood other than _swell_ or nervous, had been the encounter with the photograph.

Until then, she had never before seen Clark angered into silence. The suggestion for her to tag along most likely wouldn't improve his mood.

"You can go look around if you'd like. I'm just gonna drop this off," even with a scowl and set jaw, Clark was courteous, holding the door of the truck open for Lois to hop out. He lowered the back of his truck and lifted, what looked like several pies, into his arms. He waved her off stiffly, cradling the pastries close to his chest and walking off rather quickly.

At least quickly for Clark Kent. Lois was accustomed to seeing Clark struggle for grace and speed. There were many times at the office where Clark would come in trying to balance a stack of papers and a box of pastries on top and everyone would pause at what they were doing to watch him make it to his desk. As if on cue (and Lois often felt as if it was on cue), Clark would trip over something or one of the items would tip over, causing him to fall and drop everything and everyone in the office would let out a collective breath before they returned to their previous tasks at hand.

After Clark's disappearance into the crowd, Lois took the time to observe the meticulous decorations for the summer hop as Smallville High's senior council members arranged them. Sunflowers adorned every available gap (they were real sunflowers, too, much to Lois's amazement), and lanterns hung from window to window on a string all across town. Small red banners with crows printed on them dangled from every street lamp and as the night was nearing and fireflies had begun to come out, small clear jars lined the sidewalks for children.

"Well, look who done showed up,"

Lois turned at the sound of the familiar voice and found Pete Ross standing beside a lamppost, one arm propped up against the pole by his head and a drink in his other hand. He returned her smile with a careless ease made all the more charming by his perfectly combed and parted blonde hair and the green and brown suit he wore, fit for a Southern gentleman.

"I'd ask if Clark had a change o' heart, but by the way you look to be wearin' his hand-me-downs, I doubt you're here for the dance."

Lois dipped her head down toward her shoulder, her lips pressed tight together in a knowing smile. "He wasn't too happy about even stopping by to drop off Mrs. Kent's pies."

Pete pushed himself off the pole and stepped off the curb toward her. "Poor boy. He'll come 'round," he added, winking at her. "I promise."

Lois rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Pete?"

Lois glanced behind Pete, the latter who made a show of swinging about before spotting the pretty blonde girl in a pink sundress.

"Hey, baby,"

Miss Sullivan gave Lois a toothy smile in greeting full of charm and genuine like. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lois," she said when she reached Pete's side.

"I can say the same," Lois returned. "Although, I must say, Miss Sullivan, you never struck me as a pink sort of person."

Chloe snorted, passing a hand over her mouth in muffled laughter. "Believe me when I say you're not the only one."

"That dress has been in her closet since September. She was just a-waitin' for someone to ask her," Pete said, sweeping back a lock of hair that was drooping toward his face.

"Yeah, and it only took my daddy to give you the shove," Chloe added, crossing her arms. The pink dress suited her. The hem reached just below her knees and was embroidered with small flowers. The neckline swept in low from the shoulders making them seem delicate and rounded and her bosom full and soft.

"Aw, baby, you knew I was gonna ask you anyway."

Chloe gave Lois a smirk and rolled her eyes at Pete as he put his drink down on the curb and rubbed his hands together, looking over the heads in the crowd.

"Didn't you say he was just gonna drop off some sweets?" Pete asked, turning around and searching over the square of dancing couples. "Well, then how come I don't see 'im? Oh, Clarky, baby!"

"Jee_sus_!" Clark called back, navigating his way out form the crowd behind the Talon movie theater. "Petey, I thought we agreed to stop with the pet names!"

"In public," Pete added, giving him a cheeky grin.

Clark glanced at Lois with a look that seemed to say 'what'm I gonna do with him' giving her the impression that his mood had been lifted. The front of his shirt was damp, suggesting the idea that he had not changed as he got older and did manage to get the deserts down his front one way or another. He tapped her shoulder tentatively and made a motion asking if she was ready to go.

"Uh, excuse me, you can't go yet," Pete held out his hands, wringing them sarcastically. "You still haven't asked Ginger to dance yet, Mr. Astaire,"

Lois instantly wished Pete hadn't said that, and by the look on Chloe's face, she could tell she shared the sentiment. Clark's jaw set and he looked away from their group before responding to Pete who otherwise looked unconcerned.

"I'd rather not," Clark said, shoving a hand into his pocket. He straightened his back and swept a lock of hair away from his eyes.

The glow from the street lanterns caught the blue shine in Clark's hair, replacing it with an orange streak and casting the side of his face in shadow. He hooked his thumb over the bronze belt buckle holding up the faded blue jeans he wore and tapped a nail against the design. Lois noticed then how sinewy his hands were: long pianist fingers with thick tendons running up the backs of his hands and up his forearms with short, clean nails.

Unexpectedly, Pete took Clark's response without insistence. He rolled back on the heels of his dress shoes, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. "Awright. Anyway, after this little hop here, there's gonna be a hoot-nanny at the ol' McCoy barn if you're interested in going." Pete leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his green eyes. "All our favorite people 're sure to be there."

Clark broke out into the first real grin Lois had seen all day. "I'll think about it, Pete," he said, taking a step backwards.

"You better. And you be sure to come, too, alright, Miss High Tops?"

Lois returned the smile Pete gave her and began to follow Clark out of the square when she caught sight of a yellow sundress, an armful of sunflowers, and the pretty redhead that was the cause of Clark's lamentations. She covered her mouth with a hand as she laughed, her eyes sparkling for the fair haired boy who reached out to take her into his arms, the flowers crushed softly between them.

Chapter Four: Don't Ask Me to be Lonely

Clark's uplifted mood lasted until they returned to the farm where he seemed remember his former countenance and helped Lois out of the truck stiffly, mentioning that he would be right in to help Mrs. Kent after he finished some last minute chore when Lois had been having such a good time riding with him in his truck, laughing at his (actually funny) jokes, and listening to the radio (a_sk me for the stars, dear, and I'll do your command, ask me for the diamonds, I'll put them on your hand_). Then he had to go and recall that he was still aggravated at being made to drop by the hop and leave her to assisting Mrs. Kent until he returned from whatever it was he needed to do.

It wasn't that she didn't want to help Mrs. Kent. She would do anything for the sweet, auburn haired woman who invited her in and gave her three meals a day. But there were some tasks required of her that Lois Lane had to admit that she was in no position to perform.

Metropolis University was, despite numerous (and shady) investigations, a good school with an excellent Communication department and veteran journalists from all over the country running the Journalism division. But for all it gave her to help her survive in the world, she couldn't help but wonder if it would have killed them to offer culinary classes? Of course, the thought that they _had_ offered them but she had been too preoccupied to take them, never occurred to her. She just couldn't stand the sidelong, pitying glances Mrs. Kent kept giving her after she had asked Lois to peel the potatoes.

And Lois discovered that sneaking into high security history museums after hours had nothing on being able to keep the shape of a potato as the skin was being peeled away.

"Lois, dear, why don't you go out and call Mr. Kent and Clark to come in now," at least Mrs. Kent had tact. She smiled as Lois set down the knife (relief most likely evident on her face at this time) and backed out of the kitchen, heading to the front door with the checkered curtains and wooden hanging reading "Home Sweet Home" in typical country fashion.

She had no more than stuck her head out the door when Clark was suddenly climbing he porch step, a gust of wind and dust in his wake, causing Lois to entertain the possibility of a sandstorm: she was in Kansas after all.

"Pa'll be in in a minute," he said, sidestepping her to get into the house. He grinned and continued: "I was down at the shop earlier today and the boys said that if you have any questions or concerns about the progress of your car, they'd be happy to help."

Lois raised a brow. "And what about you? Don't you know what's going on?"

Clark wiped his hands on a damp towel and looked at Lois sheepishly. "Cars and the like aren't my specialty. I know a thing or two, but I usually just do a lot of, um, _walking_."

"Oh, so what good are you then?" she joked. Or half joked. The Clark Kent back home usually missed the train or bus and Lois had never thought to allow him to get behind a wheel.

"I just deal with heavy lifting."

At her inquiring stare, Clark ducked his head and hurried into the kitchen where he briefly explained to Mrs. Kent about some leak in the barn that he and Mr. Kent fixed up before coming in.

"P wants to start putting up the new fence tomorrow morning," he added, grabbing the checkered towel off the counter to take the pot roast out of the oven.

Mrs. Kent smiled her acknowledgement just as Mr. Kent walked in through the back door. His work boots hit the floor with heavy thuds, causing Mrs. Kent to wince and check to see if he was tracking dirt.

"Smells good, Martha," he said, leaning against Clark's back, looking over his shoulder as the latter set the food on the table.

"You go clean up," Mrs. Kent instructed, tugging on the soiled handkerchief in Mrs. Kent's back pocket. "You, too, young man," she added to Clark who had wandered to the window and was peering through the curtains, munching on stolen string beans.

He pointed out toward the road as headlights faintly shined onto the back of the house. "Seems we got company," he said. At the pained expression on his mother's face, he continued: "It looks like Petey's truck; I'll take care of it, ma."

Mrs. Kent sighed as Clark slipped out the back door. "Looks like it'll be you and me tonight," she said to Mr. Kent, who was drying his hands on the checkered towel Clark had just been using.

Lois stood behind the counter watching the playful exchange between the Kents. Feeling out of place, she moved toward the back door to follow Clark as the Kents moved toward each other. She loved the way Mrs. Kent's face brightened with each careless, adoring smile she threw toward her boys and she hungrily ate up the obvious sparkle of gentle adoration in Mr. Kent's eyes as he jokingly asked: "Is that a promise of things to come?"

She couldn't even remember any sort of sparkle in her own father's eyes except for hard, cold determination.

Outside, a dirty, blue pick up truck had pulled up by the mailbox. Pete Ross was leaning over the edge of the back of the truck, a half empty bottle in one hand and Chloe Sullivan in the other, telling jokes that had the car's company, as well as Clark, standing on the other side of the fence, roaring with laughter.

"So I said: 'how d'ya think I rang the door bell?"*

Clark lowered his head, his shoulders shaking while the truck let out unrestrained shouts of laughter. Pete took a swig from his bottle, his blonde hair hanging in wavy clumps around his face.

"Hey, Petey, your momma know you're out?" Clark asked.

Pete swung a leg over the trunk's side in an attempt to climb out, but only resulted in losing his balance and having to clutch at Clark, who managed to catch him, for balance. He gave Clark an insolent smile as soon as both his feet were on the ground. "Oh, she knows man. She knows." He clapped Clark on the back. "So, Buddy Holly, you didn't swing by the ol' McCoy barn after the hop. We had to bring it to you."

Clark shrugged. "Sorry, boy. I had to help my father out with some stuff on the farm."

Pete rolled his eyes and tossed an arm around Clark's shoulders. "Aw, you coulda finished that in no time at all!" He turned back to the truck's company. "Can ya'll believe that Mr. Kent 'ere is faster 'n a speeding bullet?"

"One's gotta wonder how he misses the bus every morning," Chloe Sullivan shouted.

As the group erupted in laughter, Lois concluded that there were still traces of the Clark she knew in the boy standing awkwardly in his best friend's drunken embrace. Missing the bus was one.

The boy behind the wheel of the truck, probably one of the McCoy boys, leaned across the two girls next to him and called out, adding to the dying laughter: "Yet he still gets to school on time!" causing another uproar.

The number of times Lois had watched Clark stumble down the hall from behind the closing elevator doors before knocking someone over or seen him lose a taxi was ridiculous in proportion to all the times he had arrived at their destination before her.

'How do you do it?' she had asked him once as he thanked a bystander for their time and information.

'I, uh, _ran_,' he had responded, adjusting his glasses and smiling at her.

"How _do you do it_, Clark," the boy continued.

Clark, seeming to squirm under the unwanted attention, scratched behind his head and hooked the thumbs of his left hand on his belt. "Well, Tommy, I uh… _run_."

Despite the curious subject matter and Clark's obvious discomfort amidst the laughter, Lois thought that perhaps this was the sort of fun Clark had while in Smallville. It made sense: friends driving by before dinner on a slow summer day, passing cigarettes back and forth, and someone's radio adding pleasant background noise with The Dubs: '_anything for you, for you dear only, but please don't ask me…_' The chirping crickets in the high grass across the road gave the impression of a peaceful night to come. Until Pete opened his mouth again.

"And didja know Mr. Kent he-ah is more powerful than a locomotive? Yeah, yeah," he added to the disagreeing crowd, "one time, he threw this football at me and, gosh darn it, I t sent me back on mah rear end and I just 'bout bruised two ribs."

A pasty faced boy with brown hair brushed to the side, over his ears that stuck out like jug handles, a bottle in his lap, still unopened then called out: "Then why's he just the water boy?"

Lois supposed she would have laughed. The Clark Kent she knew fit the perfect, stereotypical description of a water boy: klutzy, clumsy, and blind as a bat without his glasses. But even if this had not been the case, the remark itself was amusing. Had she not seen the sudden, violent rage that overtook Pete at that instant. Almost as if he had heard Pete's heartbeat accelerate, Clark took hold of his elbow as his arm slipped from around his shoulders.

"You think you're hot stuff, Greller?" Pete said, trying to shake off Clark's grip, his steps unsteady and eyes hooded and unfocused. "You think you're hot stuff because you drive your daddy's car, have a jug head hair cut, and an unopened beer?"

The boy, Danny Greller, shifted in the truck's trunk, embarrassed by Pete's accusations and was about to defend himself, but Pete kept on, his face contorted by actually well contained rage.

"You think you're radioactive because you're here with us?" Clark now had a firm grip on Pete's shoulder and was dragging him away from the group. "You're crusin' for a brusin' you—"

"This way, Pete," Clark said, his voice calm and even as he all but carried Pete to the back by the fence, holding him up by the shoulders.

"What a nosebleed!" Pete shouted before Clark pulled him out of earshot.

Lois watched from her spot a little ways off from the house but not near the fence or the group now sitting awkwardly in and around the truck. Chloe was sitting with her shoulders hunched, a turned down smile on her face while the driver, McCoy, appeared to be trying his hardest not to laugh.

"Good ol' Pete," he said.

Gradually, the group broke out in slow chuckles before picking up individual conversations. Lois waited a moment, her arms crossed against her chest to block out the chill of the night breeze, then turned to look at where Clark and Pete stood away from the car and just out of earshot, by the fence. She glanced back toward the truck, then slowly made her way closer to the two boys, half curious to know what Clark was doing to keep Pete under control and half being the usual, nosy reporter Perry White had hired her to be.

"Pete," she heard Clark say. Pete leaned down to pick up a piece of the long grass rustling in the light breezes and stuck it into his mouth, then leaned back against the wooden fence, draping his arms over the side. Clark stood erect and still, watching Pete intently, even as the latter casually moved about his surroundings. "You're drunk."

"And you're worried I'mma spew somethin' 'bout you bein' more indestructible than the Indestructible Man," Pete shot back. At Clark's silent reaction, Pete threw up his arms. "Relax, Clark!" he grinned, blonde hair swinging into his eyes. "I promise I won't tell non one you can fly."

Lois took a step forward, then paused as Clark's gaze jerked toward her as if the wind rustling through her hair from the movement had alerted him of her presence. His eyes glowed in the dimming twilight and he put his hand on Pete's shoulder and angled him away from Lois, bending his head down and lowering his voice, just as a rowdy car drove up the road, headlight cutting through the dimming daylight, voices loud and boisterous, their owners obviously drunk and the radio blasting 'Stranded in the Jungle': '_meanwhile back in the states_.'

Distracted from Pete and Clark's private conversation, Lois watched as the car pulled up next to the McCoy truck and its occupants jumped out.

"Hey, Tommy!" one of the boys called, his arm around a pretty redhead. "Tommy McCoy, where you at, man?"

The driver, who had taken Pete's seat next tot Chloe in the trunk, rose awkwardly to his feet, his back bent over like an old man as he fought to keep his balance. "Nice to see you, too, B-b-brad."

Brad loosened his tie and removed his arm from around his girlfriend's waist, a cocky smile on his handsome face. "So how come we didn't know 'out this little party of yorn bein' moved," he took a sweeping look about him, "here?"

Tommy shrugged uneasily and looked to the others for support. "It was all sorta last minute, Brad," he said. "The Ross man got bored and decided to bring the party to Clark Kent's."

Lois had been so focused on what was happening, that she jumped as Clark placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked back to where Pete was standing, his face turned up to the sky, hands in his pockets, looking remarkably calm compared to his former countenance.

"I'm bringing Pete inside. He's not feelin' too great," he said, his voice low, eyeing the scene at the fence. "I'll be right out to handle this."

Lois nodded and Clark went back, taking Pete by the upper arm and guiding him to the house. Any questions Lois may have had on Clark's ability to fly or run abnormally fast would have to be held until later.

"Excuse me," Lois snapped her attention back to the party by the fence and jumped to find Brad's pretty red haired girlfriend standing in front of her.

Upon closer inspection, Lois found that it was the same red head in the picture Jimmy had asked Clark about. She was tall and slender with small, delicate bones that made her appear almost child-like. She was twisting the yellow fabric of her dress in her hands as she looked over her shoulder, watching her boyfriend and his friends victimize Clark's friends in their truck. She turned back to Lois, tucking a stray lock of her shinning hair behind an ear, and asked: "Might you know where Clark has gone? I thought I saw him, but like always," she laughed, running her fingers across the bangs lying on her forehead, "I blinked and he disappeared."

Her eyes were green, Lois observed: a brilliant, glowing green that looked almost yellow toward the middle. "He, um," she swallowed, tugging at the frayed ends of her shirt, "he just took an uncontrollable Pete inside. He should be out soon."

The girl smiled, eyes twinkling. "Pete's always up to no good," she said fondly. "I remember one time, we went a-fishin' and when Clark wasn't lookin', and Pete tied the ends of their poles together and made like he caught somethin'. Broke their poles clean in half."

Lois snorted. That sounded to her like something Pete would do. She was about to respond when she heard someone call her name. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Clark jog up next to her.

She supposed he would have said something about Mrs. Kent leaving her a plate and that she should go in to keep her dinner from getting cold, but the sight of the girl in the yellow dress standing in front of her threw him off guard. By the way he stood, it looked as if his feet had finally touched the ground and had him rooted there.

"Lana," he murmured.

The girl, the infamous Lana Lang, smiled, down casting her eyes after briefly meeting his: "Hello, Clark," she said. "Would it be okay if I asked for a ride home? Brad's drunk and I'm afraid I can't trust him another mile up the road."

In all the years Lois thought she had known Clark Kent, never before had she seen his eyes burn with such a blue intensity. When he looked at Lana Lang, whether it was love ore merely passion, it seemed he saw no one else but the picture of the pretty girl in front of him.

* * *

Also, I forgot to mention. Pete's little joke toward the beginning is reference to the short lived tv show _Freaks and Geeks_. As far as what the joke actually was, we never found out.


	5. Little Star

Whoa, there! Hello! Thank you so much for all of you who have stuck with this story so far! I appreciate your patience and your interest more than you know. If I have not responded to you for the last review you sent me, I apologize. But I promise to try to get to you this time! :D *hinthint* I've got a note at the bottom that will clear a few things with the story up so please read it! Thanks again! Enjoy!

* * *

_Wish I may, wish I might  
Make this wish come true tonight  
Searched all over for a love  
You're the one I'm thinking of  
-The Elegants_

"Well look who's sneakin' back in after curfew,"

Lois jumped as she stepped back in the kitchen and into the twang of Pete's voice.

"You could go to hell fo' that, you know," he added.

Lois dragged a hand across the side of her face and leaned against the counter. "Jesus, Pete,"

"Uh-uh. You could go to hell fo' that, too," he grinned at her from over the back of the couch then swung to his feet, his body swaying backwards as he straightened up. At the annoyed look on her face, she wagged a finger at her. "No don't you go arguin' with the son o' a preacher," he said, scowling at her, appearing to be insulted.

Whether he was or he was not, Lois could not tell. And at that moment, she could care less. She shrugged her shoulders in surrender and turned toward the table where Mrs. Kent had left her a plate.

"So where is Buddy Holly?" Pete swung into the kitchen, his blonde hair a waterfall of waves hanging around his face and his thumbs hooked into his suspenders.

"He went to drive Miss Lana Lang back home before her boyfriend crashed his car," she uncovered the plate and settled down at the table, expecting Pete to join her. When he did not, and had not said anything for quite a while (or from what she was used to), she looked up to see him slumped against eh column separating the kitchen and living room.

His arms were crossed and his eyes, usually warm and playful, were hard. When she caught his eye, he shifted, gave her a careless grin and staggered over to the table, seeming to try to appear to be as drunk as he led Clark to believe. He dragged a chair out, the legs scrapping against the floor, making Lois wince, and flung himself down into the seat, starring into the table.

She watched Pete's face as she chewed, the crackles and snaps of the string beans between her teeth joining the silence and Roy Orbison's quiet crooning on some radio Pete had switched on before she had come in. '_Well, pick up your feet, we got a deadline to meet_…' When Pete's face had not changed and Lois was getting sick of the sound of her own chewing, she pushed her plate aside.

"If there's something on your mind, Mr. Ross," she said. "I beg you to enlighten me."

Pete looked up at her. His head was resting against his hand with his forefinger stretching the skin near his eye, his elbow up on the table.

"Lemme ask someone from the outside," he said, straightening up and folding his hands onto the table. "Now answer truthfully, you know what God does to liars."

Lois rolled her eyes.

"When I say 'Clark Kent'… what do you say?"

Lois caught herself. If anyone were to say 'Clark Kent' she would say 'rookie,' 'farm boy,' 'klutz,' 'coke bottles.' But with Pete, well. With _this_ Clark she had suddenly been exposed to, those words hardly described him.

"Clark…" Lois hesitated and glanced up at Pete from her plate, "is a nice guy."

Pete slapped his hands down on the table. "Exactly!" he said. "He's a _nice guy_."

When he received nothing but Lois's blank look and her move to return back to her dinner, Pete rose from his chair, shaking his hands and head. "Nobody seems to understand that," he sighed, hands on his hips. "No. Everybody just takes advantage o' him. Because Buddy Holly—he don't know how to say 'no'." Pete swept a hand through the waterfall of curls in his face and pushed them back, taking a deep breath.

"I don't know if you noticed, Miss Lane," he continued, "but Clark's got this special power—"

At the mention of power, Lois's mystery solving reporter instincts kicked in and she looked up at Pete who was now pacing the length of the dining room. A part of her hoped he would reveal something about Clark Kent's unusual persona while in his drunken stupor. The drastic differences in the Clark Kent she knew and the one who lent her his old tee shirt to use as a nightgown baffled her. It was as if they were two completely different people.

"—of making you feel like the most important person in the world."

Any thought or schemes of how to untangle the enigma that was Clark and perhaps someone else, dissolved as Lois looked eagerly into Pete Ross's face and saw all the worship and adoration one would expect of a preacher's son for his savior.

"Look at me," Pete said, shrugging his shoulders, his eyes glinting in the dim kitchen light. "I ain't nuthin' special: a trouble maker. A rebel without a cause. But Clark chose _me_." He jabbed his thumb into his chest as he spoke. "Clark chose to trust me. He picked me out of everyone else in this godforsaken town and made me feel like I was worth something." He lowered his hands and placed them down on the table so he was leaning over the chair and at eye level with her. "Do you know what it's like, Ms. Lane, to feel like you've got somethin' to offer?"

Lois had shifted so that her spine was pressed into the decorative backrest of the chair. She had not taken anything personal from Pete's ravings and accusations nor had she thought much of his lack of personal boundaries instead blaming it on his alcohol consumption. His question did prompt an image of Perry White, however but Lois did not feel the need to encourage any more of the hero-worshiping conversation.

"I can't say I do, Mr. Ross," she said. "At least not to the intensity that you seem to."

The fight and passion drained from Pete's face and he suddenly looked older than his 18 years. Deep lines under his eyes and around his mouth appeared with the shadows thrown into the kitchen from the dim overhead light as he straightened up, adjusting the cufflinks on the sleeves of his white shirt and made to walk away, perhaps out to the barn when Lois shot up and grabbed his wrist.

"Who is Lana Lang?"

It had not seemed possible at the time, but Pete appeared to look even older at the red haired girl's name. He shook his head and wiggled his arm free.

"No good," he said, his green eyes gleaming like a cat's as he turned his face away. "She's no good."

Over the arching fields of the Kent farm and across a small cluster of trees in between the next neighboring house, Clark and Lana stood gazing up at the twinkling sky. Lana had one hand clasping Clark's jacket around her shoulders while the other rested on the railing leading up to her blue and white house's gazebo. Clark often shifted his gaze from the sky to admire Lana's trim waist enveloped by the full yellow skirt or the slender dips and curves along her bare arms peaking out from his plaid jacket.

"The moon's beautiful," Lana said. "Just like that night we went fishing."

"Uh huh,"

"I can almost hear the crickets and bullfrogs down by the lake as Pete's little boat struggled to remain afloat with all three of us,"

"Lana, I still— "

Lana turned, full yellow skirt twirling among fireflies and uncut grass as she walked out of Clark's approaching embrace. "Goodness, look at the time. Aunt Ruth will have a fit. Thank you for the ride. And the jacket. Good night, Clark,"

The door clicked shut, porch light switching off as Clark stood, hands stuffed into his pockets outside the truck, clouds floating over the moon.

* * *

**PLEASE READ:**

1. Now, I know I've gotten a few messages regarding the time frame. Well, I've decided to officially disregard it. Time that is. It is no longer 1959 or 1963. It merely is. But feels like the 1950s to Lois. And everyone else. So we don't have to worry about Lois being older than Clark or Clark being in his 40s. It simply _is_.

2. I'm taking liberties with Pete. As you can see. I've seen different portrayals of him in different medias, but so far, there's really been no consistency. He's sort of similar to the Pete Ross of _Superman for All Seasons _with a mix of Jerry Lee Lewis thrown in. And if you have not read _Superman for All Seasons_, you really should. It's an excellent origins story.

3. I'm considering moving this story over to the comics section because, honestly, I'm holding nothing similar to the movies in this fic. I'm using a lot from different comics and some of the animated series as well as other television shows. So, if you have any interest in this story for further chapters (and I hope you do!) plus search for it under comics - Superman.

4. Just as a teaser, I've been wanting for quite a while to throw in a guest. I think I've found a good subplot to throw them in and I cannot wait to write their character.

So thank you so much for reaching the end of this page! I'm sorry for the wait, but I hope it was at least sort of worth it! Oh, fun note, my uncle works with one of the original members of The Elegants! I'm hoping for a cellphone recording and/or an autograph!


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